Hearts
by Choco
Summary: DISCONTINUED. In her crystal prison, Princess Zelda discovers something no one wanted to know. Implied Zelink and shameless GanonxLink.
1. Chapter 1

Hearts  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own The Legend of Zelda in any way, shape, or form. No copyright infringement is intended.  
  
_I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts..._  
- Julius Caesar, Act 3.  
  
. . .  
  


Zelda had time to think of light, and darkness.  
  
She knew much of darkness. There was the dark in the silent grief of a widow's bedchamber, the dark of hopelessness, the dark of years passing with startling quickness, the dark that claimed her as she donned her mask over and over...the dark of her crystal prison, a darkness that was eternal unless Lord Ganondorf Dragmire decided otherwise. There was the darkness inside her. _That_ particular dark was a hungry dark that helped itself to pieces of her soul unless she pushed it down. That was the kind of traitorous dark that dictated her motives, her actions; that forced her to go along with a destiny she didn't believe in scarcely until that day...when? Time didn't matter in here. But the dark -- it dulled her senses and beloved smells were not quite so sweet, and colors were not as vivid (when they were allowed in here at all). Not even the pleasure of control seemed to move her as much as it had in her youth; the manipulation and the thrill of victory against those who had wronged her and her kingdom...it seemed to disappear in time, in this _dark._  
  
But the light! There were so many types of light. There were the kind that _his_ eyes captured; golden sunlight, warm to the touch, like the taste of candied cucco against the tongue. There was moonlight: silvery, like fine liquid sliding across pale flesh, comforting. There was torchlight. Unsatisfying, to Zelda, but very real. And then...then there was the light she _couldn't_ see, light that some held close to their hearts; a vital quality, such people said, and a life was contemptible and incomplete without it -- without this invisible light that shone brighter than even her honey-blonde hair under summer's passionate sun.  
  
In her darkness, such light existed. In her dark, barren cell, hope gleamed against the crystal. The outside was oblivious to this light, thankfully, this faltering spark of want. (Oh goddess, he _was_ coming to her, wasn't he? She could feel her pulse tap-tapping away in the wrist of the hand pressed against one solid wall of her prison.) But there was one man yet to bask in its glory.  
  
Princess Zelda, rendered speechless by the Lord Ganondorf's vehement spells woven in anger, stood in her makeshift holding-cell. She watched the dark carefully, serenely; she's been here some time. And suddenly her veil lifted, the walls of the crystal became as transparent to her as they surely were to passersby, and her intelligent eyes swept around her surroundings quickly -- the Lord's bedchamber. Why here? Her frozen face tried to crease in a frown as she took in the thick ebon curtains, the large bed, the self-glorifying portraits hung arrogantly along this wall and that.  
  
The door, adjacent to her position against one graying wall, opened stealthily and gently -- there was no creak, but a weary resignation to it (so it seemed to her eyes and hands that sensed magic) that spoke of ages. The thought of who it surely was made her cold, cold like her eyes, and nervous -- nervous like the part of her lips at the sight of a tall silhouette against the bright of the room beyond. A thick, black boot kicked its way arrogantly across the threshold, the other followed. The dusky man's face was barely visible as her sight dimmed again, but his eyes were two bright, _orange_, otherworldly irises.  
  
Zelda tried to tilt her head, the coldness spreading from her eyes and throughout her entire body, want for another man dripping from her lips and tears of frustrated helplessness trickling down her face, jawbone, upon the pallid hem of her skirts. Her eyes focused quickly now; the man was almost upon her. He was standing fully dressed, his eyes cold, contemptuous, mocking; her eyes flicked quickly down his thick leather armor, settled onto the glimmering boots.  
  
"Look at me."  
  
Princess Zelda looked down at Lord Ganondorf Dragmire.  
  
And with total derision.  
  
. . .  
  
This had not always been the case. Lord Ganondorf Dragmire and the Princess Zelda had, a long time ago, been able to sit in the same room at court and exchange trivial pleasantries. But there were ingredients that made up this current brew: loneliness, heartache, starvation, conquest, repetition...and the ever present, damnable, darkness.  
  
The first thing Zelda remembered was waking up sore, heavy-eyed, altered, and with the Triforce mark of Wisdom shining brilliantly back of her hand. She remembered, albeit fuzzily, revealing herself in the Temple of Time in spite of what she had been told, remembered being caught in the warlord's powerful and ingenious trap, remembered being transported by some vile, pagan magic to his crude stone castle. Foul magic seemed to crawl in almost visible lines all across her chest and stomach and face. Unstoppable shivers ran along the length of her entire body -- she tried to move, and could not. She felt terribly vulnerable and degraded.  
  
The feeling stayed with her for days. Nothing happened in these days in which she would stay awake for an hour or two at most. Whole hours would be lost on her, when she would fall into dreamlike states of sleep. She was neither nourished nor malnourished. The static charge of the old magic gradually faded (or perhaps she just became _used_ to it) and slowly, very slowly, she began to feel somewhat...normal.  
  
Her long periods of blackness ceased, and with her eyes opened and the spell of artificial darkness lifted, she could see her captor. Ganondorf Dragmire. She could have guessed. Zelda was not shocked, not fearful -- not really -- just angry and sour. She screamed and yelled and threatened violently. Sometimes she noticed that he _slept_ in that bed, that he bathed in a neighboring room, would dress. She looked away every time he did this and almost wished for the darkness then. She could not stand the man.  
  
It was only after screaming -- for days, perhaps -- that Zelda discovered that Ganondorf was not acknowledging her in the slightest. It was not that she began to panic. A dozen different ideas about what she could do raced through her mind, each one more wild than the last, but she dismissed them each contemptuously. She had given up -- and waited with never-faltering hope for her Champion. But now, her eyes followed the movements of Ganondorf Dragmire between the increasingly long periods of darkness. She hoped at first for some kind of weakness to exploit -- for some flaw in his **insipid** design -- and then...then out of a mixture of curiosity and disgust.  
  
The dark had claimed her in times she could scarcely remember -- and she had fought bravely against so as to continue her duty. But there were times when it was all over, when there was nothing she could do, when...  
  
...Some shining things caught her attention...  



	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimers: See Chapter 1.  
  
  
Thank Yous: dorepoll, E. Quicksilver, Kota Magic. Your support is appreciated!  
  
  
A/N: No, Ganondorf hasn't done anything to Zelda...yet, that is! Eheh.  
  
  
_I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts..._  
- Julius Caesar, Act 3.  
  
. . .  
  
Up until now, her days had been dull and silent and cold except for the fleeting moments when Lord Ganondorf made himself known. He moved about the room in the dark, flowing robes of a Mudorian scholar, a trademark strut in his gait that remained unknown to her and, for the most part, unseen. She soon realized he had a morning routine, an evening routine, and midday visits which were a "treat." Zelda knew Ganondorf was never in the room to see _her_, he had not once made eye contact, but that folly was all she had while she waited for the arrival of her Champion. He, though it was shameful to admit, was her only proof that she was _there_, and not indeed claimed by the darkness that loomed as her constant menace. He was her last grip to humanity.  
  
  
In a week, she was broken.  
  
  
In the next, Nayru came to her.  
  
  
Zelda wasn't quite sure how this had happened, or how the event had passed, but she was certain that during one of these countless nights where she could count the dark salivating minutes without relish, she felt small, white, holy hands upon her face, her shoulders, her body...just for a moment, then gone. The brief touch returned to her a resolve she certainly thought she had lost when -- in those rare moments regular sight was returned to her -- she began to look at her captor in a trembling mixture of not just curiosity anymore, but **need**. Was it what some of the old ones in Impa's village had whispered, that a captive would soon began to sympathize with his captor -- oh, she hoped never to find out! Perhaps it was but the Mark back of her hand...but, energized, she looked at Ganondorf once more with disdain and scorn and a dark knowledge. And   
yet...  
  
  
It turned, almost imperceptibly, to a gentle acknowledging of Ganondorf. Despite the holy hands that had been laid upon her, despite the Mark of Wisdom that remained her only light within the cell, her feelings softened (just for moments, just for fleeting moments, and then her resolve was back again), her helplessness melted in the subtle actions of the Gerudo. The way he moved across his massive chambers, his strides hypnotized, looking -- as he always had -- as if he spent a lot of time at sea or on horseback. How he pulled on his boots. The look in his eyes if he chanced a glance at the prison that symbolized Hyrule's ruination -- self-assured, arrogant, confident.  
  
  
The Princess thought her thoughts and her actions over, ashamed that she should feel so for such a pitiful man, and relaxed. What had she been worried about, anyhow? The thought that she could hold any _real_ affection for the man was absolutely laughable. Besides that, Ganondorf didn't even _look_ at her, surely he wasn't planning to...to kill her. There was resentment and pain as she thought about her end that was certainly close at hand, but she didn't take notice because at her thought, the door slammed open and bright light from nowhere flooded the room.  
  
  
Her **Champion**, in the flowing black robes of Lord Ganondorf Dragmire, stumbled into the room and collapsed onto the massive bed like a pile of laundry. In his left hand, she saw, or _thought_ she saw, the bluest of blades, the Master Sword -- but that comforting thought was cruelly robbed from her when she blinked and looked again. He was unarmed? He was in Ganondorf's robes -- no, nevermind that, he was on Ganondorf's _bed_? What was going on?  
  
  
His knees were on the floor but his torso was bent over the low bed and his hands clutched the black-violet sheets tightly, in the same way that Ganondorf Dragmire's strong hands clutched his blond hair a moment later. He moved, forced, onto the bed, his thighs against the foot of it, the rest of him sprawled out beautifully and delicately before the King of Evil; there was a sense of familiarity in his actions, in the way his mouth soundlessly moved as he turned over to lay on his back...and opened his arms, as if to admit him.  
  
  
No. No. **No**. Her trembling hands, which knew the blinding truth, rose to her mouth, as alternating expressions of horror and disgust and hate twisted her sharply angled, Aryan face.  
_  
  
What are you doing? By the Triforce, what are you_ doing_?_  
  
  
There were tears. Zelda cried them. Each drop splashed onto the mirrorlike floor of the crystal, and mingled with muffled sounds coming from the mouth of her Champion that she could barely hear. His head was pressed into a pillow, long fingers stretched, some bent grossly into the soft tick. And to think that Ganondorf hadn't even undressed -- hopefully, that _wouldn't_ change. She saw the conqueror running a hand roughly, insultingly, up and down one side of her Champion's face, who turned his head to the side to breathe. Zelda saw his face: the closed eyes, the pallid and blunt lashes, the quivering lips and wavering strands of hair along his face, stuck in some places thanks to sweat. She saw his animation, his motion, the way his brows knitted and tightened, the flexing muscles in his jaw, his lithe body rising at Ganondorf's touch. Disgusting. He was barely touching him and this was obscene, disgusting.  
  
  
She lowered her eyes to the floor of her prison and prayed silently for darkness now. Even if it wasn't granted, she wouldn't watch this -- couldn't. She couldn't witness her utter ruination, couldn't look into his eyes and _see_ what she knew Ganondorf Dragmire must have wanted her to see, couldn't witness the grotesque profanity of this evil man polluting white flesh.  
  
  
It wasn't comely.  
  
. . .  
  
Ganondorf stood a few minutes later. Put on his robes. Went to bathe.  
  
  
Her Champion hadn't noticed her before, it had been...dark, but when Ganondorf left she felt his gaze on her. The Hero of Time looked at her, with such broken eyes, with tearstained cheeks, raw and ravaged lips. And she thought he knew she saw _him_. How she wished she knew what Ganondorf had told him!  
  
  
Her world faded into darkness yet she stayed awake, still remembering those eyes, at first so full of a child's bliss, lust he confused with love, need. Ganondorf became more and more unsavory in her mind -- and his removal seemed now not just a lofty goal but a necessary undertaking. Her need for escape had turned to obsession, but her Champion was helpless before her. She had adored her Champion for everything he never could be. And now -- Ganondorf had so easily degraded _Link_, his worst enemy. And he'd done it so horribly, with such decadent vigor and life. Zelda had never seen such a passion, such a hate, though she hoped now to emulate it. And now she craved Ganondorf's immolation.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimers:** See Chapter 1.  
  
  
**Thank Yous:** Dragon Girl, phantwo. Your support is appreciated!  
  
  
_I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts..._  
- Julius Caesar, Act 3.  
  
. . .  
  
She was still alive.  
  
  
Terrible and ashamed and ugly in her darkness, Zelda pulled at her clothing, her cruel and frozen fingers worshipping the silk fanatically and working feverishly at the commonplace ribbons, the buttons, the clasps. She pulled at the familiar lacings of her corset until they loosened and she pulled it free from her body reverently. And she looked down at her body, flushed and sweaty, wondering if she was looked upon and not caring. And she rubbed until her flesh felt raw, but still her skin felt rough. And she wept.  
  
  
He had been abased before her, no longer was there a Champion for the fair maid, and yet still she remained alive.  
  
  
She already knew why.  
  
. . .  
  
Time went on and on without her, and she knew herself for helpless after witnessing a man -- a man whose knees once bent only in zealous worship of his goddess Farore -- taken as a bride. Things went on, she knew they were going very fast, and when she was allowed sight, Lord Ganondorf was rarely in bed. Yet she saw **him** -- involved in menial tasks, fetching chain mail for the Lord's skeleton guards (why were they in his bedchamber?), getting the warlord water when he came to stay, rinsing out his chamber-pot. She didn't know how she stayed sane in the twilight days that followed what she'd witnessed. How did the _world_ stay sane? Sometimes the Lullaby would come back to her memory and she hummed it until the notes became confused and were lost to her throat. Then there was her darkness, and no one came.  
  
  
But then...  
  
  
Sometime, in the dark she judged as night, **he** came to her.  
  
. . .  
  
"Princess."  
  
  
Zelda opened her eyes in the black at the feeling of feather-light touches against her skin, and immediately thought herself free -- but blind. She realized despondently, but with no surprise, that she was where she had been when she fell into one of her short periods of darkness...but what of this feeling? There was no one with her and it felt as though there were ants crawling over her flesh. Her darkness cleared, gradually, and she found herself looking down at the face of her Champion, whose hands were pressed against the crystal wonderingly.  
  
  
She could feel--  
_  
  
I come not..._  
  
  
--her heart breaking.  
  
  
"_Princess?_" Concern. Not for her.  
  
  
"Go away," she replied tonelessly. The stiff fabric of her corset felt rough against her skin. She wanted to hide. She wanted to cry.  
  
  
"Princess, I--" He looked as if he wanted to continue, but in the end thought better of it. She noticed, barely, he was wearing the same robes, that his capless head was topped by blond hair that fell lank and unwashed to his shoulders. His head bobbed out of sight for a moment and there was nothing in her fuzzy, pink view, but once it returned...oh. She was faintly amused that she could still make him blush. "I thought I'd lost you."  
  
  
"None but him can remove his spell of darkness. Has he taught you his secret ways of sorcery already?" she whispered in anger.  
  
  
He looked quite helpless. "Princess, don't--"  
  
  
"Don't what?" she raged. "Don't hate the man who has destroyed Hyrule's lands at a whim? Don't--"  
  
  
"Don't _be_ like this! Lord--"  
  
  
"--hate a man who has turned my most powerful ally against me?"  
  
  
"--Ganondorf wants what we all want: power. Will you hold that against him?" His Aryan, blue gaze, heavy upon her, expectant. "Will you, really?"  
  
  
"He has me...in a crystal." She couldn't hold onto her anger. It seemed to melt in proportion to the time she spent looking down into his white, upturned face. "I don't know what you're trying to accomplish here."  
  
  
"Lord Ganondorf is not the enemy you take him for, Princess. He...he _does_ want what the rest of us want."  
_  
  
Sweet Din! Is he really calling him by his title aloud? Oh, gods, _praising_ him? By the Three!_  
  
  
"I doubt it," the Princess said flatly. She thought she'd go insane if he didn't take his hands from the crystal, when it felt as though his hands were all over her, draining away her anger, her will to fight. "I want Hyrule as it's supposed to be."   
  
  
"Hyrule _is_ as it's supposed to be," her Champion protested, and she noticed that his hands were naked. _They say,_ she remembered saying to him once, _that **he** wears golden gauntlets._ She remembered his laughter. She dismissed the thought quickly.  
  
  
"Yes. Yes."  
  
  
He smiled up at her and she saw no sign of the shuttered eyes she'd seen at their last meeting in the Temple of Time, the eyes of a man who has seen much bloodletting, and far too soon. "Princess I--I'd like it if you'd do me a...a boon."  
  
  
"What, Link?" -- softly.  
  
  
"Might you talk to me? I'm...it's unbearable, when he's not here."  
  
  
Not: _Will you help me kill him?_ Not: _Will you teach me to contact the Sages as you cannot in your prison, so they can help us escape?_ Not: _It hurts. Make him stop._  
  
  
She hid her revulsion behind a heartbroken smile.  
  
  
"Yes," she said. "I would like that."  
  
  
Then, she traced across the outline of an ungauntleted hand with her own fingers, delicate and still frozen but terribly precise despite their desire to tremble.  
  
  
It was the black-moon night, the night she had left her father to die at his advisor's hands, all over again. Now, as then, she followed after another so that she might live -- and what a terrible destiny she went on to! Now, as then, she could only hope she made the right decision. Now, as then, she continued to see her Champion as he had been at their first meeting, a boy with her father's eyes.  
  
  
Now, as then, she did not permit herself to weep, because she knew her duty, and she knew the Sages needed her courage.


End file.
